


The Crackling Sea

by sevenfists



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-25
Updated: 2006-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 11:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10808532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenfists/pseuds/sevenfists
Summary: "Dean, I can't—the vertifier's busted, it won't—""Jesus Christ, get outta there," Dean said, dropping onto the decking next to Sam. "Lemme take a look at it."





	The Crackling Sea

**Author's Note:**

> For mcee.

"Dean, I can't—the vertifier's busted, it won't—"

"Jesus Christ, get outta there," Dean said, dropping onto the decking next to Sam. "Lemme take a look at it."

Sam rolled onto his back and sat up. The main engine block was underneath the decking, to protect it from debris, and he'd removed one of the floor panels to get at it. Underneath was a complicated tangle of pipes, tubing, and wires. Sam had never really been any good at fixing the engine, but he'd thought it was just one of the compressor valves, which were easy enough to fix.

Dean lay on his belly, peering down into the engine. "What the fuck," he said. "How the shit did this fuse to the heat shield?"

"That doesn't sound good," Sam said.

"You're goddamn right it doesn't," Dean said. "Hand me that wrench, would you? We're gonna be here for at least another week."

"We don't _have_ another week," Sam said. "We're supposed to be on Fackenthall in thirty-six hours."

"Yeah, well, too bad," Dean said. "We need a new vertifier. Fuck!"

"How are we supposed to pay for that, Dean?" They'd been staying away from the fake credit accounts since Dad died; all that time in the hospital on Xipol had put their ident information into the data networks, and one wrong step would have the Intergalactica swooping down on them in a heartbeat. Sam was sick of dealing with cops, and he really, _really_ didn't want to have to bust Dean out of prison again.

Dean shrugged. "I've been saving up for a new hyperdrive. Should be enough to cover a vertifier."

"Please tell me there isn't anything wrong with the hyperdrive," Sam said.

"Not yet," Dean said. "I can probably get a few more months out of it before it kicks it for good."

"This is not making me feel better," Sam said.

"Uh-huh," Dean said. "Get outta here, you're ruining my concentration. We need a 3L vertifier. Don't let anybody talk you into buying one of those shitty 3Ks—I don't care how much cheaper they are, goddamn things tear faster than a whore's pantyhose."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just tell me where the cash is."

The market was normally packed at the end of the week, but it was even worse than usual. Sam had to dodge vendors with their gravity carts, Kipong women with water canisters balanced on their heads, flocks of wandering chickens, street performers—it seemed like everybody in Kaihang City was crowded into the market section, and the noise was giving Sam a headache. Mailan had a largely barter-based economy, and people tended to conduct their haggling by screaming offers at each other. Even the whores got in on the act, shrieking prices at potential customers—fifteen minutes for three eggs and a liter of water, an hour for two loaves of bread and a sack of rice.

It took him half an hour to reach the used parts warehouse, and he was sweaty and irritable by the time he got there. Gordon was sitting on his ass in the back room—Sam could see him through the cracked window in the swinging door—but he came scuttling out when Sam rang the bell at the counter.

"Ah, Sammy, Sammy," Gordon said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "What can I do for you today?"

"We need a new vertifier," Sam said. "A 3L."

"Oh-ho," Gordon said, and chuckled. "That'll cost you, Sammy my boy."

"I've got cash," Sam said. "Hard Autrescan credits."

He could practically see the gears churning in Gordon's misshapen head. "Well...how many credits," Gordon said, and Sam knew that he had him.

It only ended up costing him half of what Dean had saved. He had to nudge at Gordon's thoughts a little, but he'd stopped worrying about using his powers a long time ago—sometimes there just wasn't any other option, and a new vertifier wouldn't just appear out of thin air. Sam did what he had to in order to keep food on their plates and fuel in their ship.

Dean had wedged himself right down in the engine, curling around the cold metal until only the top of his head was visible.

"I got it," Sam said. "183 credits."

"Dude, that's only half the market price!" Dean said. He wriggled back out and hoisted himself up onto the deck. "What'd you do, suck Gordon's dick for him?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're an ass," he said. He tossed the vertifier over to Dean, who caught it easily. "Put that in the engine and let's get going."

"It's not that easy," Dean said. "The metal's all warped, I'm gonna have to melt it—"

"Do I look like I know what you're talking about? Just do it," Sam said.

It didn't take a week—it took three days, and then they were on their way to Fackenthall. It was a four-hour trip by hyperdrive. Dean navigated—or, well, the computer navigated, but Dean liked to hold on to the steering wheel and pretend like he was in charge. Sam indulged him.

Ramsey met them at the dock. "I sure am glad to see you boys," he said.

"We got here as fast as we could," Dean said, shaking Ramsey's hand.

It turned out there were six werewolves holed up in the woods, not two like Ramsey had thought, and it took them a week to track them all down and kill them. The last one, a big male, took Dean down with it, snarling and biting, and Sam had to pry the thing's claws out of Dean's belly after he shot it between the eyes.

"He's bleeding hard," Ramsey said, ripping Dean's overshirt into bandages.

"Shit, I know, I _know_ ," Sam said, furious with Dean for not being careful enough and with Ramsey for getting them involved in this in the first place. His hands shook as he dug around in the first aid kit—he needed a pressure sealer and a shot of hypamaphine.

"Sam," Ramsey said. "He'll be okay."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, he'll be—he'll be fine."

They got him back to the ship and let the built-in med unit get to work on him. Sam watched anxiously as it hovered over Dean, probing and whirring.

"I need to get back," Ramsey said. "Take care of those bodies. You give me a buzz first thing tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sure thing," Sam said. "You be careful, Ramsey."

"Always am," Ramsey said, and headed out.

Sam looked through the porthole window while he waited for the med unit to finish. Fackenthall had only been settled a couple generations ago, and most of it was still wooded, unpopulated. Dad had worked mostly in the Ludae System, those big industrial planets with their sprawling, continent-wide cities, where trees were confined to arboretums for the wealthy. Sam hadn't seen a forest—a _real_ forest, not one on vids or in VR—until he was sixteen. It still amazed him, that the world could be that unchanged by human activity, still that overgrown and wild.

"Sammy," Dean croaked, and when Sam looked over, Dean's eyes were open.

"You had me worried, there," Sam said, carefully staying where he was.

"Just a little scratch," Dean said. He rubbed at the thin red lines on his lower abdomen that were all that was left of the deep wounds the werewolf's claws had gouged. "See? Good as new." He was slurring his words, doped up on whatever the med unit had injected him with.

"You're high," Sam said.

"Little bit, yeah," Dean agreed.

Sam took a step forward, then, and touched Dean's temple, the curve of his ear. "I was really worried," he murmured.

"That's cause you're a goddamn worrywart," Dean said. He reached up and caught Sam's wrist. "You gonna help me off this table?"

"Maybe not just yet," Sam said. He stood there until Dean fell into a doze, his eyelids twitching with visions Sam didn't know how to share.

Sam couldn't sleep that night. His quarters were too hot; his blankets were too scratchy. He spent half an hour trying to find a comfortable position and never did manage to get his left arm to quit falling asleep. He thought about all the ship repairs that needed doing within the next few months, and how much money it was going to cost. He thought about that message he'd gotten from Ellen, on Havorla, that he hadn't told Dean about yet. He thought about Dean.

He gave up around 0100 and went across the hall to Dean's room. Dean was flat on his back, snoring lightly. He didn't so much as twitch when Sam shut the door behind him.

He sat on the edge of Dean's bunk. Vague moonlight was coming in through the small windows set high in the wall, and Sam could see the marks on Dean's belly—already fading from angry red to pink, healing up. It was possible they wouldn't even scar. He touched them gently, tracing their contours, slightly ridged.

Dean murmured and shifted in his sleep.

Sam rubbed his thumb along the line of hair trailing down from Dean's navel, crisp and rough against his skin. "Dean," he said softly. "Hey."

Dean scrunched up his face and opened one eye, squinting. "Sammy? S'morning? Lemme sleep."

"It's not morning yet," Sam said. He bent over and mouthed at Dean's belly, pressing kisses along the waistband of Dean's boxer shorts.

"C'mere," Dean mumbled, and Sam rolled into the warm cradle of his arms and kissed him, long and deep.  



End file.
